Fields Of Gold
by flawsinscience
Summary: Connie and Michael with a bit of Ric from Holby City discontinued
1. sitting down here

Fields Of Gold

"Constance, this is your mother calling, you need to come home, your father, well you're fathers gone"

The words had trilled out on the answering machine, the end to a long day, and the start of a long night. A terribly long, grieving night, the bond between a father and his child is something unbreakable, magical, spiritual, not to be disillusioned by simplicities of going to school, university, travelling the world. She'd done all of these things and more, taken his word as god's, drank up his spiritual knowledge, honoured him as a daughter could, seeing his beaming face as she collected her degree, his joy at regaling to everyone about how she was to become a top surgeon, at how she'd snagged herself an equally charming husband, someone big in Hertfordshire. The son of the great Sir Arthur Beauchamp, ranking high in the army, sending his sons to Eton, equally pleased at the engagement, having the daughter he'd never had. She'd been lucky in that respect, lucky to hold the closest of close bond to her father, heeding his advice to get an education, get a life better than theirs in Hackney, she'd spent hours with him, figuring out all her problems, getting her good grades, a scholarship to The Royal Masonic School for Girls.

It hadn't been until she'd turned 28 that things had turned sour, gentle persuasion from her mother had resulted in their sorry attempts at having a baby, her lack of want, his lack of desire, the two mixing in the feeble excuse of _"sorry mum, I'm infertile" _met by a grunt of distaste from Annie, her mum, and a _oh well sweetheart_ from her dad, the one who'd always faired kinder on his daughter, preferring her happiness to protestations of motherhood, always the one to see no wrong in her. She'd loved him unconditionally for it, dropped everything to run to his side no matter what the problem had been, need to see her, want of some medical advice for an old friend, the chance to take her for a walk in the park, remember the old times, pick up something from town for him, done anything she could for him, to a point.

When she'd moved back home to London years before Holby had become an option they'd discovered the fateful news that something wasn't right with him, with her daddy, her provider, he'd grown more forgetful, less like himself, contracting, if that was the correct word, Alzheimer's. She knew too much about it, knew it would slowly ravage him of his soul, control his every move, turn him into a nobody, a helpless form who wouldn't recognize her, know her, appreciate her. It was that moment she'd taken charge, told her mum that she would buy them somewhere quiet in the country, away from the busy dangers of London. Her mum hadn't liked this, only agreeing for the sake of David, wanting to have him for as long as she could, better able to care for him in a close knit village, worry less if he got out of the house, enjoy summers more away from the dust in London.

When it had finally grown too much for her mum to cope with Connie had paid for him to go into a nursing home close by, too close for her liking, it hurt to see him waste to nothing, not know her face when she'd gone to visit him, call for Annie instead, lie uncomfortably in the relaxed arm chair, cry for Connie when she was next to him. Her visits had become less frequent, she couldn't hack it, stand the pressure, hiding from the hurtful truth, being a coward and moving to Holby, a distance far enough to merit the sporadic visits, close enough to be by his side if it were needed.

BUT she hadn't been there at the end, hadn't been there when he'd needed her, his little girl had been at the other side of the country worrying about her husbands infidelity to be with her father on his death bed. Not knowing it had been so imminent when her mum had called to tell her he was going downhill fast, she'd shrugged it off as an intermittent lapse, that he'd be ok within the fortnight and if not she'd be down like a flash, not caring to provide reasoning for her lack of appearance, not wanting to worry anyone about her minor problems, stoically Connie, always had been, always was.

The door slammed on her reverie, her husband intruding with his clumsy thoughts on the situation, her curled up form, wrapped in a big blanket, clasping a glass of wine, a tear shed from her eye. "Bad day at work?" he enquired, leaving his briefcase in the hall, taking a trip to the kitchen to replenish a glass of his own tipple, stronger than hers. Returning he found her gazing to nothing, to space and beyond, searching for heaven, searching for her dad.

"Not really" she shrugged, curling tighter still as he sat beside her, not touching her in the slightest, more interested with the whisky in his hand, "I got a call from my mum though"

"Mmmm, what did she say?" he grumbled, taking up the paper

"That my father passed away" Connie sighed, turning her tear stained face to look at him, gauge his pointless reaction

"It was for the best sweetheart," Michael replied simply, not glancing from the paper as he spoke

"Is that all you have to say on the matter, sweetheart" the last word spoke volumes of contempt flooding into her, at quite possibly the most vulnerable she could have been, he'd shot her down, crumbling her fragile hope to nothing, his grumbling response had been the final straw for her as she'd run out of the room, out of the house, like the spoilt child she'd always been, never needing to seek attention until now, until the first night she'd been alone, without her daddy to keep watch on her, one half of the protective blanket given to each child, the quilt torn, the fields gold with the dim sunshine of dusk, the sky even brighter with her twinkling star, gracing the heavens, for its first night alone


	2. Places Nearby

This is an extremely sad part, I had myself in tears writing it, tissue warnings are being issued, I'm not entirely sure if this will get any better, feedback good or bad is appriciated as always

* * *

_I watched your daily fight  
I hardly knew  
The pain was almost more than I could bear  
And still I hear  
Your last words to me._

Her room was still the same; it wasn't her childhood room. That had been packed up years ago. That goodbye painful enough, no one ever forgets the place they slept as a child, the demons that supposedly lurked under the bed, the warm scent of their pillow, the restful colours on the walls, chosen by eager parents, tarted up by the crayon adornment, softened by the numerous cuddly toys sat on the bed, the floor, the window ledge. Latter years had seen infantile objects be replaced by books, hundreds of them, textbooks, reading books, she'd also possessed a tiny pin board covered in pictures of her friends, her dog, her dad, her mum, birthday cards, congratulations cards,

_Well done my petal, you will become a doctor, dad xxx_

_My Daughter the surgeon, well-done sweetheart, dad xxx _

_We are so pleased about your engagement, our baby all grown up, mum and dad xxx_

Each signifying the opening of a new chapter in her life, the approval of her parents, a treasure to behold forever, a trinket to the relationship, a trophy to stand proud, the one thing to have carefully survived the move, left behind by Connie, a painful reminder of her previous non married life, sentiments unrequited according to Michael, she happy to leave it there for her dad to look at, sit in her room in their new house, pass hours cuddling her moth eared teddy, calling for Connie, coco, Constance, not understanding Annie's voice telling him that Connie was being a big girl in the world, being a doctor, like he'd always wanted her to be. It was the signal to a beginning of an end, the loss to make Connie, or break her.

_Heaven is a place nearby  
So I won't be so far away.  
And if you try and look for me  
Maybe you'll find me someday._

She sat on the bed alone, cuddling the toy like her father had done, taken it in her arms, smelling for the aftershave her dad had always worn, any trace of it a small comfort, none, nothing. Alone in a world without her father, bringing home the reality of implications for the majority of the male patients she lost, Will's kids in the forefront of her mind, their pain magnified, less depending on your viewpoint, she knew her father, they didn't, well not well, not like she did, know his quirks, know how he liked his tea, milk no sugar, knew his footsteps, slow and patient, like his temperament, his touch was the same too, not in a perverted way, but the way he patted her hair flat at night, prior to the goodnight kiss, the way he held her hand when she was ill, cradled her after her first boyfriend dumped her, consoled her. Her guardian, now an angel in the sky, confused as to her tears, they'd joked when she was younger, he was lucid, that she wouldn't cry for him, instead remember him by heart, imagine him, not forget him. It was more difficult than words, she couldn't help but grieve him, feel more than guilt ridden, she'd not been there when it happened, cowering from life in her office instead of being at his side.

A foolish move bound to torment her forever, play on her mind like a dance, a mournful solitary ballet, dainty to the forethought, meaningful to the afterthought. Her skill had always been to dance, her physique a late reminder, the hours she wasn't spending in college studying were at the local dance hall, dancing till night, returning home, snuggling on the sofa wit her parents, tiny trophies adorning their modest fireplace. Push had clearly come to shove, her dancing skills equaling her academic ones, dance suffering for medicine, her father ok about what choice she'd made eventually, agreeing it would be more worthwhile, perhaps dance can be a hobby, he suggested, he'd been right as always, she'd taught it to pay for university, revising on the bus, rising early to write essays, passing her skills onto others like her, poor yet clever, unable to pay yet better than snobs, the vicious poverty cycle continuing.

Her mum's arms enveloped her, kissing her soft hair, it must have been years since that had occurred, her mum's pain was different, it was a blessing in disguise, a release from her husbands pain and suffering, grief at a life to be led alone, pain that her daughter no longer had her father, happiness that she no longer carried his burden. Torment at the ways to help Connie, help herself; life continuing outside their house, outside the world of pain they were drowning in, her swim barely struggling above the surface, her daughter's swim struggling below the surface, being drawn into the vortex of grief driven depression, entering it with the impossible ease of a child to a park, except it was neither a park nor a child, it was a grown woman dealing with emotions. The time to see her father's body steeling ever closer, the appointment to see his body at the funeral home drawing closer on the clock, time outside controlling their sorrow, a puppet with strings. She rocked her daughter gently, back and fourth, like the baby in the nursery rhyme, "It's ok, everything will be ok" was all that she whispered, all that was needed, Connie was merely working through the traumatic reality, disheartened by her husbands feeble attempts at consoling her, more interested in seeing the area during their brief visit, tending to visit his mother two villages away, not wanting to confront the wreck of his beautiful wife. Coward. She hadn't wanted to see anyone else anyway, it was too much, braving a face was norm for her, braving a smile at a time like this would be pointless, nosy buggers wanting to know things, to feed their idle gossip, borne from boredom.

"You know we can go and see dad if you like, let you say goodbye properly" Annie suggested eventually, taking Connie's hand in hers, wrestling the toy from her grasp, leaving it in front of the pillows, the place where it always lay

"I don't want to, mum, he's not dead to me yet, I can't" her mumblings were tell tail of the denial she was fixating on, that it was all a cruel dream, curtailing in the near future, bound to end like a terrifying roller coaster ride.

"You have to baby, dad's gone, you need to accept it, he will live in your heart for as long as you want him to, but for now goodbye's must be said, his funeral is tomorrow" comfort was no more, it couldn't be, she was drowning, alone, and beyond help, steeling herself for the cold icy waters, spiraling into the vortex, the place we all avoid, the dark side of the park, the path we take veering in the opposite direction, to the play park, where we meet friends, lovers, husbands, crossing the grass of having children, creating a legacy of life to leave behind in the world, gradually tripping on the way to the gates of heaven, the exit to the park, parallel to the vortex, the shed where bad people went, the back door to hell. The vortex was an entrance to a parallel universe, not unlike hell, taking a person appearance, grief for some, acceptance of a situation for others, a mockery for the mocked, a solace for the wrongly ridiculed.

"I know mum, but I can't, it's tearing me apart already, seeing him, well, it will be final, closing a chapter I don't want shut" she was right, closing the book would be tough, like letting the final chapter of any novel, good or bad, hers wasn't as long as she'd expected, he'd only been 70, without his decline this moment would have been another decade away, she'd come to accept that fact, that her father wasn't immortal. It felt like he'd resigned from the role of her story teller, packed it in, fed up of her, sick of her insecurities, his patience running out, the ink drying up, the full stop to be drawn that day, the very summers day she'd expected it not to. The moment dreading in her mind, her mother's hand guiding her across the quaint village square, the tinkling of the bell to the door ringing out in her ear, the consoling voices merging into one as she stole herself to enter the room, face the harsh light of day, worse than any other emotion she'd come across, her path so close to the vortex, it was scraping at her feet, daring her to enter, dragging her by the heels. Her face willing not to spill its tears as she confronted his face, it looked so peaceful, his wrinkled face, lamenting the hours spent laughing with her, with his Annie, spilling the stories of his time spent working in the fields as a boy, helping on the family farm, entertaining her in the times before they'd got a TV. The best times of her life, the point where she didn't concern herself with fronts, when her only worry was the next exam, the next meal, humbling thoughts to her now.

_You just faded away  
You spread your wings you had flown  
Away to something unknown  
Wish I could bring you back.  
You're always on my mind  
About to tear myself apart.  
You have your special place in my heart._

The point where she would need to speak, to reel off the painful goodbye was dawning on her, gritting her heartbroken teeth she began "daddy, its Con, its you girl, I'm so sorry I wasn't there in the end, it was too much, we were brilliant together, you were always there for me, took me by the hand and led me through life, it meant more than I can tell you daddy. You made me, I tried to help you, I couldn't, it hurt too much, not to have you there properly, you got stolen daddy, someone took your soul, I couldn't come to terms with that then, I have to now, it hurts. I want you to be there to be beside me, laugh with me, laugh at me, I don't care, its true what they say, the biggest thing in life is loosing your parents, mum is being brilliant, she is so unbelievably strong, I'm not daddy, without you I'm nothing, maybe someday I can tell you this all properly, the day when I meet you again," her voice quivered into more unnerving tears, her knees shaking at the side of the coffin, knocking against the mahogany wood, taking an unnerving thud now and again as she struggled to stand, her hands clasping the sides, her hand reaching to touch his hair, memorizing its soft touch for an eternity, final goodbyes were never easy, "thank you for being there, thank you for being my father, just… thank you and goodbye, the curtain is falling, you've done your final performance daddy, I missed it, I'm sorry, I'll never miss another one, I'm sure you'll see mine, I guess you can be my guardian angel, somewhere up there to keep an eye on me, just not too close though, I'm a grown up girl I play a little more than before, close you eyes, rest, you deserve it, goodbye" her eyes were stinging with the tears, the furnishing of the room spinning as she took a step backwards, tripping up on the edge of that vortex, falling into it, with her mother's voice calling her back, now she'd fallen it was time to make that impossible journey back, out of the personal hell she'd just acquainted herself with.


End file.
